Free B00B9BL6TI EBOK by C B Hanley Page B

some men issuing from the castle and others striking from outside?
    John Marshal was a step ahead of her, already mentioning the possibility and then discounting it. ‘It would split our forces too weakly and besides, they could bring their damned mangonels to bear on us as soon as we got within range to the south. No,’ he sighed, ‘there seems to be no other way than to use the postern.’
    She hesitated to mention it, but times were desperate. She looked at de Serland. ‘It’s possible that there may be enough organised resistance in the town to help.’
    Now Marshal looked more interested. She ran through the facts as she knew them: some sort of resistance had been organised in the city; a man of the garrison had somehow managed to contact his brother outside, and the brother had told him that he would bring more details the following night, but he had been killed before he could do so.
    Marshal interrupted. ‘Killed? You know this? He didn’t just fail to turn up?’
    She exchanged glances with de Serland, who answered for her, dryly. ‘His head was catapulted over the wall the next day.’
    A slight retching noise came from the man behind her, but she didn’t turn. She continued. ‘So, yes, we’re fairly sure he was dead.’
    There was silence as the jest fell as flat as it deserved. She hastened to continue. ‘So all we know is what the fellow told his brother. He’ll be able to tell you better than I.’ She opened the door and spoke to the guard without. ‘Have Stephen fetched here.’ He nodded and hurried away.
    Back in the room the air was thick and two of the ever-present flies buzzed around their heads. She offered Marshal wine and at his nod poured him a very small cup, for their stocks were low. She didn’t offer him food, for there was none to spare, and he’d probably eaten more recently than they had anyway.
    Eventually the guard ushered Stephen into the room. He clutched his hat in his hands, turning and twisting it, as they all looked at him.
    ‘Well? Tell us of your brother, Alan.’ She gestured at John Marshal. ‘Tell him.’
    The man’s face became even more ashen. ‘He didn’t tell me much, my Lady, only that something was afoot in the city which was of importance, which would help. He had been told to go that night to the house of William the nephew of Warner, the mayor, and to knock in a particular fashion so they knew it was him. Then he would discover more, and he would come to tell me.’ The tortured twisting of the hat intensified. 'I never saw him again – not until …’
    He looked as though he would break down, which would not do, so she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, bidding him wait until she called him again, and he fled.
    John Marshal turned immediately to the other man.
    ‘Good. This is how we’ll proceed, then: I’ll go back to my lord regent now, telling him that we can wait three days at the most. We’ll make ready to bring men forward in order to push them one by one through the postern. They’ll be here a couple of hours after sunrise the day after tomorrow. In the meantime, you’ll go into the town and see what you can discover of this resistance. You’ll report back here before dawn in two days, and if you’ve found anything of use you’ll come back out as quickly as you can and let us know. I’ll leave some men to cover your retreat in case the French see you.’
    No wonder he was such a useful man for the regent to have around, thought Dame Nicola. No delays, no qualms. All that pent-up energy. If she were thirty years younger …
    The other man was nodding and rising, still without speaking, but he hesitated and turned to Marshal. ‘If I may, my lord?’ He received a nod of permission, and moved forward to murmur something that Dame Nicola didn’t quite catch.
    Marshal nodded once. ‘A good thought. I’ll see what I can do. Now, I bid you Godspeed, and hope we will meet again in the next two days.’
    With that he was already